


Imaginary

by bookworm03



Series: Adult Relationships [9]
Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Best Friends, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm03/pseuds/bookworm03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leslie imagines what her life would be with Ben a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post-college AU. Leslie and Ben are best friends who won't admit they're desperately in love with each other. Cliche fun! 
> 
> This chapter is also out of sequence, FYI. It's part of a series, so I recommend reading all parts before this one, though it can be read on it's own. 
> 
> I love all of you readers/commenters/kudos leavers. You're the best ever and you have definitely fuelled this monstrosity beyond what it was ever supposed to be. So thank you <3.

Leslie loves her best friend Ben. More than a friend and for almost as long as she’s known him. She remembers being sixteen and thinking how nice it would be to walk into school holding his hand, make out in front of his locker and on her bed, show up with him at prom and try fun sexy sex stuff for the first time together. She wrote about it in her diary every night, talked to Ann about it daily, and relished the time she spent in his company. She loved sitting beside him in class because he was funny and made her giggle, but still tried to do well and never teased her or made her feel uncool for caring about stuff. He was sweet and cute and everything she wanted at sixteen. 

In college, not much changed. She still wanted him for most of the same reasons, though her horizons were expanded. Even though neither of them were living in Pawnee, talking to Ben was almost as good as coming home. He reassured her, he told her when she was in the wrong, and he, if possible, got even cuter. He kept playing baseball and got a little less scrawny; his facial hair stopped being patchy and his jaw seemed to sharpen. She’d see couples at parties making out in corners and on back porches and imagined doing the same with Ben. She imagined him taking her to formals, kissing her into oblivion in her tiny dorm room bed and, up until she finally had sex at age nineteen, she imagined her first time as Ben hovering over her, stroking her hair, and giving her an adorable smile before kissing her as he sunk in. She imagined that, Ben inside her with his voice low and reassuring in her ear, being the most romantic moment of her life. She imagined Ben inside her feeling so right - romance novel right - and even more like home. 

Her first time was nothing like that, for the record. 

Now she fantasizes about Ben as her boyfriend still, though a lot less often. Like, once a week, max. 

She imagines leaning off of him at the bar, his arm around her hip and smiling into her hair. She imagines everyone teasing them about how they’re always holding hands and double dates with Ann or Henry. She imagines Ben coaxing her into vacations and hanging pictures in her house that he eventually moves into. She imagines them lamenting over whose family they have to spend which holidays with when really, they just want to be together. She imagines kissing at parties, under the glow of Christmas lights, or making their way to each other sixty seconds before the ball drops. She imagines separating at social gatherings instead of being attached at the hip, exchanging little glances across the room knowing they’ll always go home together. She imagines herself not desperate, not clinging to every second she has beside him. She imagines a world where he’s her constant, his love and stability unwavering. 

And sometimes she goes deeper. Sometimes she imagines always coming home to him, walking in the door for the rest of her life and having him be there, either starting dinner or on the couch with his tie hanging loose and his feet on the coffee table. She imagines fighting with him passionately, over important things and nonsense, but always ending up back in the same place, emotionally and physically. She imagines him leaving a book on his bedside table, his sleepy kisses on Saturday mornings, His and Hers sinks, introducing him to everyone at fundraising events. She imagines his temples starting to go silver, a ring on his finger and watching him dote on a tiny human with his eyes and her relentlessness, demanding cuddles when they’re supposed to be sleeping. She imagines him apologizing when he stumbles into their bed at two AM because he fell asleep with said tiny human after a bedtime story about Jedis teaming up with Gandalf. She imagines five, ten, fifteen, twenty years from now his lips being the first thing she finds when something big happens - for either of them. She imagines dropping everything and reaching for him and, no matter how horrible, amazing, exciting or overwhelming this thing is, Ben’s lips being reality, grounding her, bringing her home. 

And then, sometimes, she just imagines him fucking her. 

Leslie’s a woman in her late-20s and with each passing phase of her life she’s picked up a few sexual partners and more experience…And she sometimes imagines Ben fucking her. Not cupping her head and kissing her slowly as she experiences sex for the first time - no no, she’s experienced it many times by now and she sees things much differently. She imagines Ben backing her into a wall, shredding her clothes with his fingers while his mouth devours her. She imagines him dropping to his knees and licking her until she can’t stand, nipping, biting, marking her. She imagines him impaling her against a counter or bending her over their couch or sinking down on top of him, sprawled across their bed like a starfish, watching his eyes roll back in his head. 

She imagines this with her vibrator between her legs, eyes closed and his name falling from her lips. But her vibrator isn’t warm, doesn’t press weight into her, doesn’t demand anything from her. It leaves her feeling good, great even, but not spent, undone or gasping for breath. 

And today is one of those days - an imagining sex day. Today it’s been over eight months since Danny broke up with her and Leslie’s hard up and she, quite frankly, wants Ben to fuck her. 

She spots him stretched out in a booth with his brother and his brother’s new girlfriend. He worked from home for the last two days and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in as long. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans and gives a sexy little shrug when Henry says something to him. As if he’s that cool. He always tries to seem cooler around Henry.

But god, cocky Ben really does it for her sometimes and tonight one of those times. 

“Knope!” Henry stands from his chair, ignoring the eye roll Ben gives him as he crosses the room and swings her around. She squawks and smacks him. 

“How has it been this fucking long since I’ve seen you?” 

Just his choice of words makes her face hotter. He sets her on her feet and pats her cheeks affectionately. Henry can kind of be an ass, but he’s always been nice to her. 

“Did you shrink? You look cute. Red’s a good colour on you,” he leaves an arm draped around her as he guides her over to the table. 

“Strawberry blonde ponytail, who’s currently making a weird face at Ben, she’s a chemical engineer, crazy brilliant and way too good for me,” he wiggles his eyebrows and dips his head down to reach her ear. “Ellie. I like this one a lot. Put in a nice word, will you?” 

She smiles and looks up, crinkling her nose when he taps it. 

“Still gonna run the country one day?” 

“That’s the plan,” she heaves a sigh. It was a long public forum and Ron had yelled at her for even allowing it to happen and forcing him to sit there for over three hours. Some days her goals felt a little more out of reach than others. 

Henry’s mouth is by her ear again as her eyes land on Ben. “Can you just marry him and put him out of his misery?” 

She smiles, but doesn't answer. 

Ellie stands in tandem with Ben when they get to the table, a little corner booth with a chair at the end. She’s wearing high heels that don’t put her much taller than Leslie, and slacks paired with a soft, floral blouse. She sticks out her hand and smiles, muted, but genuine. 

“Hi,” her voice is soft, barely audible in the commotion. “Ellie.” 

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Leslie,” she juts out her hand and shakes firmly. Ellie glances sideways at Henry. 

“You’re Ben’s…” 

“Best friend,” Henry answers for her. “Since high school. Leslie’s works in government; she’s our history/politics ringer.” 

“For wha - ”

“Trivia night,” Ben finally speaks. 

“Hey,” she slides into the booth beside him as everyone sits again, grinning when he winds an arm around her and pulls her into his chest for a tight squeeze. Like they didn’t just have lunch on Tuesday. 

“Hey,” he grins into her hair. Hugging Ben feels like stretching after a great night’s sleep, every muscle groans in delightful release. She just bought a new shampoo from a fancy store in Eagleton Mall with Tom the other day and she can tell he notices because he inhales twice. 

Would it be the _worst thing_ in the world if she…if she tried to get him to…what if they had sex tonight? Would that be _so horrible_? She’s not nineteen, she understands there can be sex with detachment, she understands one night wouldn’t suddenly make them what she’s always wanted them to be. It would just be sex. Fucking. She’s a mature, adult woman; she can handle that. 

Henry rolls his eyes and murmurs something to Ellie, who smiles wider. 

“Are you two good? Have these forty-eight hours without getting handsy been that unbearable?” 

Ben tosses a napkin in Henry’s direction and leaves his arm draped across the back of the booth where Leslie’s sitting. She’s more than okay with that. In fact, he should be touching her. She’d be happy if he took this whole “cool guy” attitude all the way out the bar doors and to her bed, and…

Ben’s giving her a funny look and she realizes she’s chewing her lip to keep from whimpering at the thought of it. Okay, time to get a grip. She's horny and Ben's right there. She's being silly. A nice, cold glass of sangria and she'll relax a bit and…alcohol makes people less horny, right? 

They spend forever deciding on a team name ( _Show Me the Monet_ \- Ellie thinks of it), and Ben nudges her with his foot while Henry writes it into some electronic contraption. She nudges back. 

“How bad was your public forum?” Ben whispers into her ear. Leslie sighs. Was it that obvious her day hadn’t been great? The hand not on the back of the booth reaches over so his thumb can rub her knuckles. 

Over the years she’s accumulated a variety of types of evidence that Ben would be good in bed: 

1\. Donna was a wise and worldly woman of the sexual arts and twenty minutes after meeting him at the Snakehole a few years before she’d turned to Leslie and whispered “is he good? He looks like he’d be good” and has stood by this sentiment ever since. 

2\. From direct and indirect exchanges with girlfriends which kind of made her cringe, honestly. She didn’t want to hear how great of a job Ben did at satisfying _them_. 

3\. From the few kisses they’d exchanged where his mouth slotted against hers perfectly and he knew just how much to give and how much to take to make warmth coil in her belly. 

4\. His hands. His long fingers that so meticulously inputted spreadsheet data and his palms that clasped hers securely. He had big, great, awesome, perfect hands. 

5\. The cuddles. They cuddled all the time, his arms were always solid and his body curled around hers just right. He knew how to surround her and consume her. 

“Les?” 

“Mhmm?” 

“Weirdos who care, remember?” 

“I know.” 

“Were you assaulted this time?” 

“I wasn’t assaulted. I was _almost_ assaulted.” 

“Because that’s better.” 

She rolls her eyes, reaching her hand out of his to rub his beard. It scratches her palm and she swallows a low groan as she considers how it would feel in other places. 

“New look?” 

“More like I was too lazy to shave,” he rubs and she crinkles her nose. “No?” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

He kisses the tip of her nose - which also scratches - as she turns back to Ellie to ask her how she met Henry. 

At a bar in Chicago, it turns out, which is where Ellie’s visiting from. While they wait for trivia to start Henry flags down a waitress and buys the first round of drinks, pecking Ellie’s cheek delicately as she recalls the evening. Apparently he’d had a cheesy pick up line that was so bad it made her laugh. They chatted for five minutes and she put her number in his phone before she left. He called the next day. That was it. Nice, simple, sweet. Leslie catches them holding hands on the table a few times and smiles; it’s easily the most overtly affectionate she’s ever seen Henry.

She might feel a flicker of jealousy. Sometimes she wishes her relationship with Ben was that simple.

Trivia starts and soon they’re all focused on winning. The take turns buying drinks and alcohol apparently only helps them think, because they’re destroying everyone. Ben’s arm has slipped to her shoulders and he’s warm against her side, thumb dragging across a little patch of skin in the groove of her collarbone. He keeps shooting her a smirk that makes her stomach twist whenever she answers a tough question, as if he's in awe of her. She’s always attracted to him, but the vibe is different tonight. She’s crazy turned on and he’s less strung out, less chatty, more touching. When he answers a math question - a _calculus_ question - after three beers with a cocky eye roll like it was the easiest thing in the world…god, she feels hot all over. Her panties are getting wet and her centre is starting to ache. She squirms against the vinyl. 

She could _try_. He’d probably say no - he always says no and she’s survived thus far. The other times she’d asked for sex it had been for more of an emotional reason than a physical one. This time? This time she wants his body. 

His penis. She wants his penis really badly. 

She should probably conference with someone about this. Not Ann, because Ann’s on a date. Also, she knows what Ann would say and she doesn’t exactly want to hear that answer. 

_Donna_ , on the other hand… 

Okay, she doesn’t talk to Donna much outside of work, but she could just send her a little text and then Donna would tell her to “get yours”. And then she would, and when Ann yelled at her later for being careless she could show she _had_ gotten a second opinion… 

Leslie drains her glass of sangria, fires off a quick text to Donna, and leans back against Ben's arm. He gives her a sexy grin and his fingers drum on the back of her neck as he orders the next round of drinks with a flourish of his hand. 

Yup, she’s totally going to fuck him tonight. He owes her. 

After a few more rounds of them killing trivia and hitting a high score or something and getting a free round, Ben’s tickling the back of her neck and seems pretty okay with the fact that her hand is on his thigh, brushing lightly. She swears at one point he shuts his eyes and his breathing grows ragged, and is thankful that Henry and Ellie seem too wrapped up in each other to notice. 

When they’re all pleasantly buzzed Henry asks to speak to Ben and, from what Leslie can tell, more or less confirms he’ll have the apartment to himself that night. Which isn't weird, because _of course_ Ben would sleep at her place. She loves when Ben sleeps at her place, even when she's not trying to seduce him. 

"Can I go home with you tonight?" Ben murmurs when they come back. Leslie gives him a dazzling smile and nods, ignoring the need flaring deep in her belly. Ellie blushes slightly, standing when Henry pulls out her chair. 

“It was so nice meeting you guys.” 

“You too!” Leslie beams. Ellie doesn’t seem like a hugger, so she remains seated with a cheerful smile. Henry dips down, kisses her cheek and gives Ben a little look as they turn and walk out of the bar. 

“You want another?” Alone, Ben’s hot breath is against her ear and he’s suddenly sitting a lot closer. 

“I’m…do you maybe want to just get a cab? Before it gets busy?” 

_So we can get busy?_

Ben smiles, thumb brushing her earlobe. 

 “Sure. What movie are we watching tonight?” 

“Undecided,” she ghosts her mouth along his jaw and feels the shiver roll through him. “By the way, I decided I like your beard.” 

“Oh yeah?” his fingers tighten on her neck. “What changed your mind?” 

Leslie shifts and bites her lip. 

“Guess what, Benjamin.” 

“What, buttercup?” he taps her nose lightly. 

“I’m cashing in.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You owe me two.” 

“Two what?” 

She gives him a look and squirms closer. His brows lift as understanding sets on his features.

“Leslie.” 

“What?” she’s on her knees now. “What’s your excuse this time?” 

“We’ve had a lot to drink.” 

“Well, it’s not like we do it when we’re sober!” 

Something flashes behind his eyes and his grip on her tightens. 

“Leslie,” he repeats, warningly. She leans forwards and brushes her lips against his. Just enough to (hopefully) make him crave more as much as she is. Through the hand on his neck she feels a growl rise in his throat and another surge of need floods her.

 “Goddammit.”

“Please,” her tongue darts out and flicks his lower lip. 

“Fuck,” he snaps, running his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, fuck...okay, okay, okay.” 

She almost squeaks with excitement. Ben jolts, pushing her back and grabbing her wrist so tightly he’s probably leaving marks as he yanks her through the bar. 

She’s giggling nervously when they step outside, Ben’s arm wrapping around her neck. Their foreheads bump and then noses and finally his mouth is on hers again. _Really_ on hers, for the first time since that day at Lake Michigan, and god, it’s just as good as it was then. Better. Slower, with more precision, his tongue sliding as his hand holds her against him. He murmurs into her lips and she sighs back, lifting her heels off the ground and pulling him deeper. 

“Cab,” he whispers. She nods, but can’t will herself to pull away. This is super happening. Ben kisses her again, softer, and then presses his lips to the tip of her nose before dragging Leslie into a waiting taxi. 

She’s been aching - _aching_ \- to kiss his neck since high school, so as soon as the car door slams shut she does, buries her nose and lips and breathes him in, lets his warmth and his scent surround her. He sighs, fingers stroking her spine as he mutters her address at the driver. 

“So, you _do_ like the beard?” he whispers, voice tinged with both amusement and desperation. Just hearing him aroused by her is enough to bring tears to her eyes. She giggles instead and nods, kissing up his jaw and gasping when he draws her lips back to his. 

“C’mere,” he nips gently and drags her into his lap. It should feel sexy - and it does - but it also feels comforting, intimate. His hands are sliding over her body in a way they never have before, but they’re still Ben’s hands. They cup her face, tilting her chin to open her mouth more. He tastes like beer mingled with her sweet sangria, and he smells like the fabric softener he uses on his sheets. Lavender. 

“Hey kids,” the driver calls back. “Keep it PG.” 

Ben growls. His hips lift into her as he fishes for something in his pocket, and she bites down on a moan when she feels how hard he is. He fumbles for his wallet and thrusts cash at the driver. Leslie almost falls off his lap when he does, but an arm locks around her. 

“Just drive, man.” 

His lips land on her neck and shoulder and he starts to suckle. This time, she lets the moan escape, his forearms keeping her flush against him.

It’s still Ben’s lips and arms. 

“You’re sure?” Still Ben’s voice. The sound vibrates with the thrum of her pulse. She wants to tell him this is the most sure she’s been about anything, certainly the most she’s ever wanted someone inside of her and the most turned on she’s ever been in her life… 

Instead, all she says is “Uh huh,” slumping into his chest. It’s so much, and she’s shaking so hard she’s not sure she’ll be able to walk to her front door. But, it’s still Ben’s smile she feels against her skin. 

His lips on hers are so distracting she doesn’t even notice they’re in front of her house. Ben shifts under her, lifting her with him and maneuvering them both out of the car, his hand cupping her head protectively. She stumbles when he sets her on her feet and he backs them both up until they’re somehow against her front door. 

“Keys,” he whispers, kissing along her jaw as she fishes them out of her purse. She let’s him do the honours and they stumble inside as one. He kicks the door shut behind him and shuffles her into a wall, mouth finding hers again. His hand slide up her sides and he cups her breasts gently, nuzzling to her ear. Her fingers pluck at his zipper, pushing his jacket off his shoulders and latching onto his t-shirt. He bites her earlobe lightly. 

“What are we doing?” 

He leans back just a little and she stares, her stomach churning under the weight of his gaze. 

“Having sex,” she answers, sounding husky to her own ears. She’s shaking. Pretty badly, actually. Ben drops his forehead to hers. 

“Yeah?” his lips twitch, but his eyes are soft. “You’re just gonna use me for my body?” 

“Uh huh.” 

He pushes her hair away and holds her face in his hands. His big, amazing hands. Ben licks his swollen lips and shuts his eyes for an instant, pressing his nose to her hair for the second time that evening. 

“Alright then.” 

Leslie's not sure if she’s imagining it, but it doesn’t sound alright. It sounds like his voice breaks. 

And then her phone starts ringing. 

Leslie frowns and fishes it out of her bag. “Sorry,” she whispers as he brushes his lips over her cheek. “I’m sorry, it’s…Donna?” 

Ben blinks. “Really?” 

“Yeah…that’s…that’s super weird, I should - ”

“You should get that.” 

“Yeah," she presses their mouths together until he groans, because she needs to. “Go get in bed, I’ll be right there.” 

Leslie answers as soon as Ben’s on the stairs. 

“H-hey, Donna?” 

“Where you at, Knope?” 

“Uh, home,” she swallows, the fogginess in her mind dissipating. Separated from Ben and his kisses she’s starting to sober up. “Why, what’s - ?” 

“Don’t do it.” 

“Don’t…” she winces when she recalls the text. Donna's supposed to support her. If she'd wanted someone to tell her not to have sex with Ben she would've called Ann. “What?” 

“Whatever you got going on with that boy is crazy messed up, but he’s not the guy you have a one night stand with. If you wanna go pick up some pretty random and bring them home do that, but don’t do it with…you guys have issues and this won’t fix them.” 

“But - ”

“Trust me on this, Knope.” 

“It's just sex!” Leslie blasts. “It’s just…I’m capable of…” 

Deep down, she knows it isn’t. No matter how old she is or how sexually experienced, it will never be "just sex" with Ben. It will always mean something, it will always make her feel something and it will always eat away at her. There’s no detaching from Ben Wyatt. 

“Is it?” Donna clears her throat. “Look, you’re a grown ass woman, and I don’t really care what you do…except I care enough to call you and tell you you’re being foolish. This is foolish. This is not the boy you have a one night stand with, so either tell him what you really want or shut it down.” 

She wants to cry, because Donna’s so right and she so, so does not want her to be. The fact that she even called her at all tells Leslie she knows how much she needs to hear this. 

“You okay?” 

_No._

“I’m fine. You’re…thanks for calling.” 

“No problem, don’t bug me again. I got my own thing going on.” 

Leslie hangs up and blinks away the moisture pooling in her eyes. Her vision is still misty when she walks into her bedroom where Ben’s waiting. He’s sitting on the end of her bed, fully dressed, feet on the floor and head in his hands. 

“Ben,” this time her voice breaks and he looks up, offering a sad smile. He holds out an arm and she goes easily, dropping onto the bed beside him. 

“I know,” he whispers, kissing her forehead when she sinks against him. “It’s okay.” 

“I’m so sorry - ”

“Don’t be sorry,” he swipes her cheeks which she only then realizes are slick with tears. “Seriously, please don’t be sorry. It’s totally okay. I get it.” 

Her hands are trembling. Ben cups her cheeks. 

“I love you,” his lips land on hers in a long, slow kiss that draws every ounce of breath from her lungs and is somehow reassuring. His forehead stays against hers. “I love you so much. Please don’t be sorry; this changes nothing.”

He wipes her tears again. 

“Do you want to go?” she exhales, unable to look at him. She feels him shake his head. 

“No,” he croaks. “Do you want me to go?” 

Relief floods her and she takes his hand. Their fingers tangle. “No.”

“Okay,” his voice definitely catches this time. “Okay. Good.” 

“Okay.” 

He rubs her shoulders vigorously; the caresses are gone, the desperate tugs, the demanding grasp. It’s all gone, and the thought makes her want to sob harder. Donna’s definitely right though; if they’d gone any further there would’ve been no coming back from it. 

“Alright buttercup, pick the movie and I’ll make the popcorn.” 

Ben squeezes their hands and kisses her knuckles. He seems to take a few deep breaths before standing. 

“We’re good, right?” 

She smiles as brightly as she can and squeezes back. 

“Of course.” 

Instead of falling asleep beside her he curls around her, engulfs her, one arm against her belly, his ankles linked with hers and his face in her neck. Leslie feels his deep, soothing breaths against her and the tension, the anxiety, everything dissipates. Maybe he knows she needs to feel him real and warm against her, or maybe he needs to feel it too; it’s reassuring in a way ridiculously sexy, unattainable, fantasy Ben never will be. 

Because ridiculously sexy, unattainable Ben fucking her would be impermanent, a fleeting moment in time, a puff of smoke, an illusion she’ll never be able to keep hold of.

Real Ben - currently wound around her - he isn’t going anywhere. He’s here for as long as she wants him to be and she never wants him to leave. He’ll hold her like this when she needs him to, reassure her, comfort her and always make her feel unconditionally loved and supported. 

Real Ben is better than Imaginary Fuck-Me-Now Ben. Real Ben might not be her boyfriend, but he's hers to keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a prompt I received and I decided to acquiesce! Because, feelings. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

He watches. 

Watches the moonlight cast a blue glow over her hair, watches the shadows from the clouds and trees pass over her smooth face. Watches her frown and then smile laced with a contented little sigh. Watches her back arch as she stretches and curls into him.

He watches the stars fade, the moon vanish, replaced with the orange and pink glow of dawn. Watches the sun frame her in a golden halo. Watches her eyelids start to flutter before they finally peel back. Watches her blue eyes, filled with worry, search him out. Ben tries to smile, but his heart is heavy and it feels more forced than he means for it to. 

Because last night they…

It felt like something almost broke between them, something they’d spent over a decade fighting to preserve. Something he needs so much, he’d rather watch his still-beating heart ripped from his chest than have it cease to exist anymore.

He’s a little (okay, a lot) hungover, though he imagines she’ll be worse, and it makes Ben over-the-top dramatic with Temple of Doom imagery or something.

Leslie will wake up to her ears ringing with circus music while Ben makes a mental list of how the events of yesterday almost peeled his soul from his body. It’s how it always is.

He wishes he trusted her more -  _ them  _ more. He wishes he was more confident they could survive anything together, but his life isn’t exactly littered with good relationship examples and the only thing he’s ever really feared is the loss of that. The only thing that really makes him lose sleep is the thought of Leslie Knope one day throwing her hands in the air and saying “I can’t do this anymore” and walking out of his life.

And Ben fears if anything’s going to push her to that, if anything’s going to make their precarious little bubble of ambiguity pop, it’s a night like last night.

“You stayed,” she whispers, like she’s surprised. Ben slides an arm under her and tugs because he needs her closer. He’s the one that stayed, but he needs her still here.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” When they’re both very old and very grey he hopes he goes first, because Secret Service will have to drag him away from her if he’s not. He’ll never willingly leave her bed, no matter who he’s with or not with romantically.

Yeah, he’s never getting married. How do you make your wife accept the fact that you’ll always love your best friend more than anyone?

“I thought I made an idiot of myself and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you left.”

“Never,” he smiles for real this time and kisses her forehead. He leaves his lips there when he speaks next. “How’s your head?”

“Mushy. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he kisses the bridge of her nose and rests his cheek on her chest. Leslie takes his hand. Their fingers tangle and he pushes his face into her neck, inhaling the leftover remnants of her light perfume.

“That...we have to stop that. Wanting that…” he manages to get out.

“You mean, I have to stop asking you to have sex with me when we’re drunk.”

“i can’t lose you over that,” he admits. “I can’t have it be weird between us because of that. That would...basically kill me.”

Leslie lets out a shaky breath. “I know.”

“And you shouldn’t mention this in your memoirs either.” He’s teasing now, trying to inject some levity back into the situation.  

“What? How many times I tried to have sex with my best friend?”

“How horny you get when you’re drunk - ”

She smacks him and they both start snickering, burrowing in a little tighter when they finally stop. They’re on their sides, arms draped around each other and for a moment he wants to tell her or kiss her or just...something. He wants to try something else for once. Try not sidestepping his feelings, try laying it all out there and telling her the god’s honest truth.

He’s so close, to closing the distance between them and pushing his lips into hers. He’s just hungover enough that his thoughts are clouded with love for her and a need he can usually do a better job of keeping at bay. And he’s picturing it, her, kissing her, having her kiss him back. Dipping her beneath him, shedding clothes and sinking into each other with nothing between them.

“I already started the Ben Wyatt chapter of my memoirs,” she whispers, breath warm on his cheek making him realize how near they are. It cuts his train of thought.

“Oh yeah?” he squirms down so they’re nose to nose and drapes an arm around her hips. “What’s it called?”

“Best Friends Part 1: The Guy Who Loved Me Unconditionally and Never Let Me Down and Who I Wouldn’t Be Here Without.”

Ben chuckles to keep the emotion of his face, stomach twisting at her words and her soft expression.

“That’s a long title.”

“It’s a working title,” she grins.

“How many Best Friends parts will there be?”

“At least seven.”

“How many do I get?”

“Two, maybe three. Same for Ann, and then the rest for Madeleine Albright when we’re best friends, because you know we will be by the time I’m President.”

Not that Ben ever imagined he’d be writing memoirs, but if he did her chapter(s) would be called Leslie Knope: The Love of My Life.

“What are you doing today?” She thumbs his fingers.

“Nothing.”

“Wanna hang out and watch movies?”

“I’d love to.”

“And make me pancakes?”

He snorts and kisses her hair. “Yes, dear.”

“I love you,  Ben,” she snatches his hand back as he tries to pull away, her eyes are burning, making his throat ache. “I can’t lose you because of that either.”

“I love you too,” he pecks her lips lightly. It’s a gesture he wishes he tried to get away with more. It’s so little, but so much all at the same time. “You got any mix?”

“In the cupboard. Coffee too please.”

Ben rolls his eyes and waves her off.

He’s made her breakfast a million times, and he’ll make it a million more, no matter how hard she unintentionally tries to shatter his heart like a mirror.

She’s the love of his life, after all.


End file.
